Don't Fear the Reaper
by Lord of Misrule
Summary: MS Igloo inspired, A battle worn EF Tank Platoon faces its greatest challenge, a suicidal attack against the infamous Shinigami, the Mobile Suits of Zeon.
1. Morning

Central France

June, year 0079

A Crossroad was one of those places that since the dawn of civilisation had possessed military value, a place where paths diverged, journeys met, and change happened. For as long as armies needed roads junctions like this would still be necessary and as long as they were necessary people would need to fight for them.

This particular crossroad dated back to the dark ages, perhaps even before. It was a road that had borne Charlemagne and Martel, Louis XIV and Napoleon, Foch and De Gaulle. Yet for every defender of these lands it had also brought along it conquerors too, invading armies valuing its ease of movement every bit as much as the defenders, maybe more so. What one day could be used to rush defensive formations back and forth to pressure points could also be used the following day to provide access to attackers into the heartlands of France. It was both blessing and curse.

Yesterday the road had provided passage to the Fifth Corps of the Earth Federation army, a virtual rabble of men and women that had been torn apart during a month of bitter fighting, driven from Italy into Southern France and now even further. Barely a third of its number was fit to withdraw, crammed in lorries and trucks like so many rags, most of their heavy equipment destroyed or abandoned. Today this road would serve the opposite role, giving the disciplined and highly trained First Army of Zeon a path to its next victory.

At least so they hoped.

According to Earth Forces command the situation was fluid, which essentially meant there was no solid frontline and nothing standing in the path of the Zeon forces. Fresh troops were rallying in Normandy, an entirely new army raised from scratch with brand new equipment, brand new uniforms and brand new soldiers. They were the last chance for Europe, if they couldn't stop the invasion the continent would fall, leaving just the British Isles free, and that likely wouldn't last long.

The war was a living nightmare, at least it was if you happened to be trapped on Earth. It had been a mere five months since combat began, since the cluster of space colonies behind the Moon declared themselves independent, named themselves the Principality of Zeon, and then decided to wage war with Earth to cement their new nationhood.

Their first campaign had involved wiping out those Colonies which declared for Earth, slaughtering the inhabitants of the great steel tubes and then taking one of the billion ton structures and lobbing it at the planet, aimed for Earth Force Command in South America. It missed, instead striking Eastern Australia leaving a crater visible from orbit and throwing up enough dust and ejecta to cause a nuclear winter.

A line of debris traced its fall, gigantic heat radiators and solar panels rising from the ocean like grave stones embedded in the sand and rock beneath the waves, leading to the Sydney crater.

What was left of the Navy responded in force, but found themselves outgunned and outmatched by Zeon forces. A massive battle fought even as the dust of the colony impact spread across the globe resulted in yet more death, several more colonies were lost in the crossfire between fleets, another few billion souls sent to eternity.

In one week half of humanity died. It could not go on and both sides agreed not to use weapons of mass destruction again. Earth had no choice, they were vulnerable and no longer capable of repelling a second Colony drop or orbital strike, for Zeon it was of no consequence, they were winning.

With the space fleet all but gone Earth was defenceless and the rulers of Zeon made their next move. They challenged the armies of the Earth Federation on their own ground, landing an invasion force equipped with the latest wonders of science, highly trained and professional they met an army which was under staffed, under funded and equipped with weapons that were a generation out of date designed for the wrong war.

Three armies landed, one in Asia minor which was currently rolling up Europe, one in the United States establishing foot holds on both coasts, and one in South East Asia busily conquering Polynesia and Australia. In just two and a half months Zeon had a third of the planet under their control and showed no signs of slacking.

Earth Forces were collapsing everywhere. The massive death toll of the war meant there was a much smaller pool of humanity to recruit from, much of the army was built around old men and boys with only pre war formations able to put experienced and mature troops into the field, and even then most of the experience came from exercises and humanitarian relief missions. The vast expansion and constant disaster meant the army would take anyone and basic training had been trimmed to just two weeks.

They didn't have a clue, Earth Force was lucky if it had five or six professionals or competent amateurs per company, the vast bulk of the armies were enthusiastic but woefully unprepared for the realities of war. They would be pitted against the most lethal and mobile fighting force in history, trained to exceptional standards and nearly fanatical in its dedication to victory. They were lambs facing lions and even a numerical superiority couldn't save them.

The Space fleet was gone, the Ocean going Navy obliterated, the Airforce outmatched and driven from the air. Only the army continued to offer resistance, and millions were falling in the lopsided battlefields of the globe.

But fought they did, defeat followed defeat yet they battled on, denying the enemy an easy life, making them pay for every footstep on Earth. This road would not be different.

There was a high pitched splash as the wheels of the scout car dipped into a puddle, a reminder of the rain that had fallen over the night. Dawn had brought a break in the clouds and as the sun rose this morning it was bright and dazzling, up lighting the blanket of clouds which still clung in the air. It came to a gentle stop by the crossroads, the four blue uniformed men inside lazily stepping out and stretching their legs and arms.

They were military police, slightly too old, too fat or too dumb to serve in the frontlines but still required to do their part for victory. That part was directing traffic. They took a few moments to examine the road sign by the crossroads, cross referencing with their map and discussing something among themselves before correctly spotting that the retreating Earth Forces had turned the sign around to try and confuse the invaders. It didn't work.

They took a quick look around at the bright green scenery, long fields of crops to the right and a dense wood to the left filled with birds tweeting and bright flowers. The air was filled with nature's perfume, the dew and open flowers of a spring morning alien to those who had lived only in artificial space. It was still twisted, the rain still tended to be grey as it carried pieces of Australia across the globe and average temperatures remained notably colder, but it was still remarkable.

Their wonder was a fatal mistake, their eagerness to savour the bliss of nature blinding them to the subtle signs of unfolding doom. If they had paid attention they would have noticed there were no birds in the woods closest to the crossroad, that no wildlife lurked in those bushes. If they had moved closer, examined the woods with the training they had been given they might just have spotted some of the shrubs were facades, and behind those false fronts waited several dozen heavily armed soldiers. They may even have noticed the eight suspiciously large mounds of vegetation sitting in the undergrowth were in fact tanks. They did not, and in their lack of focus they failed to warn their comrades of the ambush.

"Overconfident aren't they?"

David Cromwell offered a brief murmur of agreement, his gaze fixed on the video screen in front of him fixed in the turret of the tank. He watched the four invaders chatting with each other, looking and acting just like normal men, like people they could have met in the street last year. They didn't act evil, and that only made him hate them more.

"They aren't even looking through their binoculars, they're just gossiping." Private Mark Hewer shook his head, also watching the small gathering from his driving seat. "You'd think they believe they've already won."

"Maybe they do." Cromwell remarked absently. "They're wrong."

They didn't have to wait any longer, the ground began to rumble, the vibrations riding up the suspension of their vehicle and rocking the two man crew. Cromwell took a few moments to make sure all his systems were green, then resolved himself to action.

"Command to Team, standby to engage. Hammer group engage LAV's, Rake group handle infantry, Paladin group engage armour. A Troop fire left to right as they cross, B troop right to left and meet in the middle."

The four Zeon police fumbled in their scout car for a set of flags and a schedule, quickly checking which units would go straight on and which would be redirected. The force coming down the road was the vanguard of the Zeon army itself, a reconnaissance in force to contact the broken Fifth Corps and prevent them from regrouping to delay the main advance. It was expected to be at least Brigade sized, two thousand men and a minimum of thirty tanks with thousands more a couple of hours behind.

Cromwell's board showed ready, his eight tanks and hundred infantry prepared for what was coming, even if most were ignorant of the danger due to inexperience. Cromwell knew what was coming, and he knew their chances of survival were not exactly fantastic.

"Fire on my command only."

The first vehicles began to roll into view, a trio of Light Armoured Vehicles moving slowly across the road on their six wheels, commanders sitting blissfully unaware high in their turrets feeling the breeze. Behind them rolled a quartet of Magella tanks, high turreted vehicles that sacrificed a low profile for better visibility on the battlefield, a trade off Cromwell thought was a big mistake. Behind them came troop transports, some of them armoured but most just trucks filled with Zeon soldiers and their equipment.

The column snaked along the reinforced road, the police officers waving it through, letting it pass by and begin its travel along the road north, under the guns of Cromwell's team.

"Wait."

They listened to the engines, the clank of tracks, the chatter of soldiers in the trucks. They were a few hundred yards distant, close enough to see faces grinning and laughing. Machine guns swung to follow them from cover, the turrets of the hidden tanks rotating slowly to follow their enemies driving past still unaware of the impending chaos heading their way.

He waited until the furthest enemy tank was level with his furthest deployed vehicle, and then finally gave his order.

"Paladin Group, open fire!"

The eight dispersed tanks made their shots count, dug in and hull down only their turrets protruded above their earthen parapets, crowned in foliage, entire bushes, even flowers they were unsuspected until the last second. Within a blink the foliage vanished, blasted from the metal structure by the shockwave of the guns exposing the green and black vehicle beneath. Leaves were stripped from trees and despite being well outside the field of fire the infantry had to lay flat to avoid injury.

All eight vehicles were M61A5 Main Battle Tanks, the latest incarnations of the venerable Type 61 that had served Earth for eighteen years. They were beasts, massively armoured yet capable of remarkable speed and agility in the right hands thanks to their potent engines. Each turret mounted a pair of monstrous 155mm smoothbore cannons more than capable of punching through heavy armour, a vital requirement in a battlefield which had been beginning to see land battleships entering service. The dual guns helped maintain a high rate of fire, very useful for engaging land battleships and for fulfilling its secondary role as makeshift field artillery lobbing hundred pound high explosive shells in support of infantry.

At this moment however the tanks were firing sabot rounds, high density armour piercing darts which cored through their targets without fail, the larger Zeon tanks proving no match for such firepower.

The convoy halted, its path suddenly blocked by several burning wrecks, tall flames and black smoke leaking into the blue sky. The Zeon infantry began to at once dismount, rapidly jumping from their vulnerable transports while LAV's and tanks from further down the line broke off and began to advance at speed, firing a few rounds into the woods.

"Blow the charges."

Cromwell had predicted this situation, indeed he had done all he could to engineer it. Both sides of the road in front of the wood were lined in improvised explosive charges, from demolition packs to grenade clusters and artillery shells surrounded by fragments of debris or thickened fuel mixtures. On his word they were all detonated, catching the Zeon soldiers as they dismounted and showering them with shrapnel and burning fuel.

The effects were simple and devastating, turning a couple of hundred metres of road into a fiery scene from hell, lakes of liquid fire gathering as hundreds of invaders fell or tried to fleet, the mixture sticking to them as they ran. There was no escape.

"Spy-ball to Paladin, movement across the fields." A husky voice informed Cromwell. "Enemy armour breaking left and right, either side of the road."

"Understood." He answered. "Paladin group, move forward. Hammer group, secure this side of the road and hold this wood."

The eight tanks growled into life, gears engaging and lurching the heavy vehicles forward, climbing over their pits and trundling over the undergrowth with a constant crackle of snapping twigs and branches. Gunfire began to snap and whiz as the defenders opened up, spraying automatic fire at any surviving infantry. The ambush had shaken the Zeon forces, halted them, but they still vastly outnumbered the EF troops and if they regrouped and counter attacked in force the battle would be theirs. It was up to Cromwell to prevent that from happening, to keep up the pressure and turn confusion into panic.

"Over the road Paladins." He spoke calmly into his radio, his voice crackling through the unit. "Fire on the move."

The tanks emerged from the wood bluntly, running down fallen trees and picking up speed. They sprinted for the road, a river of fire, black smoke and wrecked vehicles that roared and radiated white heat, incandescent in the cloudy dawn. Behind them the woods were being shredded, tank shells, autocannon rounds and machine gun bullets smashing and splintering their way across the scene, ripping leaves from the plants and igniting several fires.

The Zeon troops were reacting well, clearing the EF killzone and rushing forward to assault the ambush positions, instinctively charging into action to route the defenders and push them away. But this time, unlike countless ambushes before, these EF troops were not entirely green recruits but included the final scrapings of a veteran unit. They had positioned themselves well, the woods around them breaking up enemy formations, slowing down vehicles and giving the defenders lots of cover and concealment. Machine gun fire would scythe a few bursts from behind a fallen log or cluster of shrubs, and then relocate before return fire could affect them. It left the Zeon forces with no idea how many soldiers were in the woods, hundreds or thousands.

The left side of the Zeon counter attack began to grind to a halt, the infantry pinned down by gunfire while those vehicles brave enough to try and enter the woods were met by Regina wire guided missiles, the bulky devices easily penetrating the armoured vehicles. The right flank was doing better, crossing the farmland on the far side of the road with the intention of swinging across and engaging from the opposite direction, a classic pincer move. They would also cut off Cromwell's line of retreat, an unacceptable situation for the small EF unit.

The Zeon force was deployed to cover its flanks, the armour advancing with guns trained towards the flaming road and the wood beyond, but they were expecting to fire on dug in positions, they weren't ready for an assault themselves. It gave Cromwell a few seconds grace, a couple of moments where the enemy were reacting to him, where he had the initiative and could dictate events. The Earth Forces exploited it mercilessly.

The Type 61s bounced across the road, blitzing through the flames and grinding the wrecked trucks under their tracks, the squealing crash of folding metal briefly sounding louder than gunfire as they barged into action, emerging from the flames and black smoke like demonic chariots. The steel beasts hunted their targets, turrets adjusting as laser rangefinders marked their enemy, each tank finding a different threatening opponent. They fired as the Zeon units were still tracking their own guns in response.

The twin cannons allowed the EF tanks to punch over their weight, blasting their first target before swiftly turning their guns and taking out the second an instant later. The sudden shock and impact of the attack punched a hole in the right wing of the Zeon assault, a gap the EF tanks swiftly occupied.

"B Troop, finish off stragglers to the North." Cromwell ordered. "A troop, form line right, assume overwatch."

The eight tanks split into two equal groups, churning up the moist farmland and dislodging sticky clumps of soil that hurled up into the air and down like meteors. B troop made swift work of the small number of vehicles left by the attack, mostly LAV's whose autocannons bounced off the green and black tanks with noisy ineffectiveness. Meanwhile A troop spread out and halted near a stone wall topped by a hedge surrounding the farmers field. It offered little protection or obscurement but it was useful enough to stop a missile or explosive round.

"Additional forces moving up." The unit scout called in quietly. "Right side of the road, moving across open ground heading your way."

"Understood." Cromwell replied. "Evacuate yourself Sky ball, it's going to get hairy."

B Troop arrived on the left of Cromwell's emplaced tanks, coming to a halt themselves to provide a more accurate gun platform. Recoil from the offset guns made aiming a little difficult, while the first shot tended to be on target the second shot required a moment for the onboard computers to adjust the traverse and elevation to compensate. It still gave them reliable accuracy, and let them put two shots on target for every single shot the enemy could manage though they were limited over longer ranges. It was considered an acceptable trade off.

"Here they come." Cromwell kept a hawk eye on his video screen, the flickering image of enemy vehicles unmistakable, the tall Magella class tanks grinding over the ploughed fields slowly, their greater bulk and ground pressure miring them in the soft earth. Perfect.

"Fire in depth, watch your kill zones." He commanded. "Shoot!"

The tanks rocked on their suspension, guns crashing back on their cradles with a concussive thunder that was still deafening in the vehicle, even the latest soundproofing showing it was useless to the task. The rounds burned away in a vast cloud of flame, the jet of light blasting out twenty feet from the muzzle with all the subtlety of a fog horn in a library. 155mm sabot rounds crossed the field in a long streak of orange, the tracer in its tail leaving a wisp of fire briefly glimpsed as it ate up the range, invariably connecting with an enemy tank. Cromwell's shot was on target, claiming a Magella with a brief point of light showing the impact against the hull, expanding a second later into a series of explosions that ripped the upper hull from the enemy tank to fiery pieces.

Paladin group was firing steadily, alternating between A and B guns to maintain a rapid and precise withering fire. The autoloaders serviced the guns, clanking a fresh round into the breach as the alternate gun tracked and fired. Smoking cartridges were ditched on the floor under the turret, smoking slightly and filling the boxy turret with a scent of burning chemicals.

Cromwell was shaken in his seat as a Zeon round glanced off the side of his turret, a loud ding echoing but thankfully failing to penetrate. The Zeon tanks had an even more nasty 175mm gun as their main armament, an atrociously powerful weapon that would have little trouble with the armour on a Type 61 if it scored a clean hit. Fortunately the EF troops had the virtue of a superior position dominating the wide flat ground the Zeon troops had to move across, picking off tanks at will. With the forest on their right flank and clear firing lines to the left the EF tanks indulged themselves.

Within a few minutes a hundred Zeon vehicles were burning, a hundred plumes of smoke rising from the damp fields from twisted wrecks. More smoke rose from the woods where the EF infantry had hammered the other Zeon wing while the road itself still burned fiercely, lined with skeletal trucks. In the space of ten minutes the adorably brilliant morning had become a smoke choked blood slick graveyard., and for a change it was the Zeon troops that were suffering this time, not Earth Forces.

"This is Reynard, enemy forces at the woods are withdrawing!"

Cromwell checked through the vision blocks of his tank, the clear armoured glass still an excellent method of quickly gauging his surroundings. He spotted enemy soldiers fleeing in panic, a sight he had seen countless times with EF forces now finally displayed by Zeon. Maybe they were only humans after all.

"Confirmed Captain." He replied. "They seem to be giving up on this flank too, we must have made them think we were a whole brigade hidden in the woods!"

"Good thing sir, I've got three missiles left."

"And I'm down to six rounds." He grunted. The only major downside to mounting such huge guns was the size of the rounds made it impossible to carry more than forty, despite the hefty size of the Type 61.

"Time to go I think." Cromwell concluded. "Bound back to point Hotdog, we'll regroup there and head home."

He gave the battlefield one last scan, then switched over to long range communications, boosting the power to his radio transmitter.

"Let's see if we can get a solid signal this time." He grumbled. "We could use a satellite about now, or a drone to bounce the signal off, we were supposed to have one up."

Hewer chuckled. "When have we ever had full support?"

"Point." Cromwell admitted. "Thumper, Thumper, this is Paladin actual, respond, over."

He waited a few moments before repeating his message, to no success.

"Typical." Hewer commented from the lower hull. "Either we're jammed or Igor is sleeping on the job. Again."

"Screw this." Cromwell snapped, unlocking his hatch with a clunk of heavy bolts retracting. "We'll do it the old fashioned way. Get ready to back out three hundred yards, then turn and run for it."

He pushed open the hatch and stood up, taking a flare gun from the inside of the turret and loading a green cartridge. As soon as he raised himself out of the air conditioned machine he was attacked by thick cloying smoke, the roaring crackle of flames distinctly audible even from a few hundred yards away. His small force had inflicted heavy losses on the enemy, using position, surprise, aggression and enemy overconfidence to claw back a small sliver of honour from this utter debacle of a war.

Despite the scene of carnage, the death and destruction delivered to his fellow man, Cromwell was gleeful. After all they had done the Zeon dogs had it coming, this and much, much more besides.

He fired the green flare high into the sky, burning brightly despite the sunlight, then gave the order to begin the withdrawal.

There was no immediate enemy contact, the mauled Zeon forces pulling out of sight to regroup. They would not leave it at this, within minutes they would counter attack in force, advancing deliberately, carefully, and inevitably. Cromwell couldn't win a pitched battle, not against these odds, so he ran until the next crossroad, or pass, or fold in the ground gave him his next opportunity.

"Paladins, form echelon right." He ordered. "Nice and easy, keep pace with the infantry."

The tanks adopted their new formation quickly, watching the front and left flank for signs of attack while the infantry components began to leave the forest and rush for their trucks waiting further up the road. Once they were on the move the tanks would spin about, exchange the muddy field for the solid road, and open their throttles before Zeon discovered how weak they were.

The flare was the final piece of the equation. It was the signal to a battery of guns and mortars a few miles away to let go with a heavy barrage, a mix of explosives and smoke to cover the retreat and hopefully hit a few hostiles as they reformed. After firing twenty rounds they too would pack up and run, all of them eventually linking up at the forward base. In the absence of radio communication Cromwell had two flares, red and green, to designate fire on either green grid in front of the wood or red grid adjacent the wood, where his tanks were right now. The Type 61s could easily survive hits by their EF allies if somebody screwed up, but it didn't ease Cromwell's mind much. A broken tread could make life rather interesting.

Several puffs exploded beside the crossroads, thick clouds of grey and white smoke suddenly pouring from canisters and fluffing out to cover the retreat. They were joined soon after by the mighty drum rolls of heavy artillery, shells rushing overhead to impact the countryside in throaty booms that hurled dirt and often wreckage up in splashes of material.

"Igor's actually hitting Green grid." Hewer exclaimed from up front. "I owe you a fiver."

"About bloody time he learned to shoot without GPS." Cromwell sneered. "He's usually too eager to limber up and bugger off to actually aim on target."

Without warning the tank was suddenly lifted off the ground on its right side, the inside ringing like thunder. It seemed to balance at forty degrees for an instant, then slammed back hard into the mud.

Cromwell cursed for a good five seconds before regaining some composure. "Tell me we still have mobility!"

"We're still moving, tracks are good!" Hewer confirmed. "Are we under fire?"

"Yeah, and guess bloody who." The Major snarled. "That was an artillery shell, sodding Igor failing to actually understand orders again!"

"What do we do?"

"No choice, reverse faster, clear the fire zone." Cromwell ordered. "I'll have that stupid bastard's bars for this."

The tanks sped up, churning the ground further as shells fell randomly everywhere, among the Type 61s, among the Zeon troops, in between the two, and most horrifyingly in the woods Reynard was pulling his infantry from. While the tanks were protected the infantry were another matter, having to crawl through the bombardment, trees snapping like twigs and being tossed casually aside by the blast of explosion after explosion. A pair of six wheeled trucks were utterly smashed by a shell falling short, scattering almost a full platoon of irreplaceable veterans in pieces.

"Reynard, get out of there now!" Cromwell yelled. "Forget bounding, just go!"

He flinched as a mortar bomb exploded on the turret, causing no damage but ringing the tank like a bell.

"Go now!" He shouted a second time, not knowing if his voice could be heard, or even if there was anyone to hear it. "Reynard, just run!"

By the time the tanks reached the road several trucks were already moving, the final trio bouncing over the rough ground and away with the 61s joining them, turrets pointing backwards in case of pursuit. None was forthcoming, and as the black and white smoke mixed to obscure the woods and the crossroad Cromwell saw no further movement, friend or foe.

Cromwell didn't say a single word for the entire journey home. Nobody did, their success tinged by the spectacular failure of their comrades. Heads were going to roll.

* * *

The forward base was a humble title, yet it proved entirely too grand and pretentious for the assortment of tents, sand bags and battered vehicles gathered in a couple of fields here in the greenery of central France. The dirt track into the base had been turned into two deep muddy ruts by the passage of heavy vehicles, machine gun nests set up on either side along with a handful of tanks scattered around the perimeter hull down, those incapable of moving but still with functional guns.

It was in every respect a temporary base, designed to be packed up and driven away in under an hour, a clear sign that command did not expect to hold this region for much longer. It was a practical measure, but failed to instil any confidence in the personnel who passed through, their morale already dragging in the mud behind them.

The trucks of Cromwell's force arrived first, their beds packed with dirty and wounded men and women, covered in crime and blood with several bandaged up in each truckload. Most made their way strait to the field surgery, dozens of nurses and orderlies mobbing the vehicles to take in the casualties. Some were taken straight in, others laid on stretchers outside the medical tent. The ones left outside were the ones for whom surgery was a waste of effort, either because they were not too badly hurt, or because they were too far gone to help. For those people the only option was a strong concoction of drugs and a little quiet for the hour or two necessary for nature to take its course.

The tanks of Paladin squadron were the last to arrive, all eight returning to base without casualties, a rare event lately. They were caked in mud, some still clinging to foliage from their period of hiding, but all moved with purpose. The roar of their engines and weight was still an inspiring sight, even if they were rather obsolete in the new era of beam cannons and Minovsky reactors.

Most of the tanks headed straight for the motor pool, an assortment of mechanics ready to give them a check over and restock their consumables. The vehicles themselves were extremely reliable most of the time, but had also been in the field for months without respite. Sooner or later things broke, snapped or wore out even in the most rugged machines.

One tank did not join them, suddenly slewing to the left and driving for a gathering of soldiers lounging around a set of green tents. It rushed towards the men, causing them to scatter and run before the clanking behemoth which only applied brakes at the last possible second, generating cat calls and a barrage of foul language.

"Wait here." Major Cromwell opened the hatch, ignoring the calls.

"With all due respect sir, you aren't going to do anything dumb are you?" Driver Hewer asked just in case.

"Of course not." Cromwell replied unconvincingly. "I won't be long."

He clambered onto the turret, noting he was indeed in the right place, the stacked mortars and self propelled artillery lined up nearby looking pristine, a far cry from his own beat up unit.

The artillery crews backed off a little when they saw his rank, his headphones resting at his neck and a black beret crammed over his fair hair. Expertly he jumped down onto the hull, then the ground itself, absorbing the shock with his knees as he hit the grassy floor. He said nothing, made no expression, just looked around for his target.

"Major?"

Cromwell turned and spotted Lieutenant Igor Romanski peering around the front of his vehicle, tin cup inevitably in his hand. He still said nothing, aware now that more of his men were doubling back, leaving their tanks to come and see what their officer was doing. The artillerymen were also a bit hesitant, unsure of this new circumstance.

"How was it Major? Gave those space born dogs a good hiding eh?"

Cromwell still didn't answer, walking along his tank and opening the stowage box on the front fender, dropping the metal door and reaching inside.

"We gave them a good barrage, no?"

Cromwell removed his hand from the box, bringing with it a shovel. Finally he spoke.

"Actually, no."

With a single swift move he swung the shovel at the Lieutenant, catching him at the side of the head with an almost comedic prang, the amusing effect somewhat lost by the eruption of blood. Igor dropped like a stone, but Cromwell didn't stop, striking him at least three more times before an artilleryman tackled him, launching him sideways and dropping him to the ground.

"Get off him!" Hewer pushed through the shocked and angry gunners, several other tankers lending support. "Major?"

"Last time he'll fire short." Cromwell grinned from the floor. "Is he dead?"

"He doesn't look healthy." Hewer admitted as Igor was picked up and rushed to the field hospital. "This isn't going to end well."

"Better take me in then." Cromwell stood, half the base staring at him in open mouthed shock. "Stockade is over there, if you can call a tent a stockade."

"Okay." He stood aside. "I don't believe you did that."

"Someone had to." Cromwell shrugged and started walking. "And he had it coming."

Cromwell found himself in the stockade for less than three minutes before the furious face of Colonel Janssen stormed in, the blue eyes surrounded by a furious crimson face.

"Everybody out!" Janssen ordered, his anger boiling to the surface. "Now!"

The guards quickly left, content to eavesdrop through the canvas walls.

"Is he dead then sir?" Cromwell asked calmly.

"Lucky for you, no." The older man fumed. "But he's probably got brain damage!"

"I could have told you that weeks ago."

"This is not a joke!" Janssen bellowed. "You deprived me of an experienced officer in the middle of a nightmare war!"

"His only experience was covering his own arse and locating Vodka." Cromwell retorted. "That stupid son of a bitch hasn't hit his target in a fortnight. This time he pushed it too far."

"He is the only artillery officer we have!"

"I lost eighteen men today to enemy action." Cromwell spat. "And thirty four to him!"

"That is not…"

"You want to talk experience?" Cromwell snapped back at the superior officer. "Those men have fought since day one of this war! They were the only ones in this entire bloody Corps who knew what they were doing! Now you've got forty of them left, and that's assuming they recover their wits enough to fight!"

Janssen exhaled a long breath, shaking his head. "You're supposed to say sir at the end you know."

"I guessed I wasn't in the army anymore." Cromwell replied.

"You don't get away that easy." The Colonel stated with a grunt. "You are supposed to be an officer, a Major at that! People expect a good example from you! Attempting to murder fellow officers is not exactly the example I had in mind!"

"Killing the dumb ones might have an effect sir."

"Shut up David." Janssen winced. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I stopped thinking a month ago. I've been on instinct ever since."

"You need better instincts, you can't go around beating people to death. Well, at least not those in the same uniform. Bad for discipline."

"Discipline isn't going to last much longer anyway." Cromwell shook his head. "Two weeks training for new recruits? Come on sir, how the hell are you supposed to make soldiers in two weeks? They just teach them to use a gun and then drop them in action."

"We exist in desperate times Major."

"And we aren't making them any better." He replied. "At least my action removes an obstacle."

And in so doing you create a precedent I have to punish." Janssen looked down for a moment. "Under military law I could execute you for this."

"I know." Cromwell accepted. "But my life and his add up to two, he's already killed three dozen of our best, now he won't hurt any others."

"I thought you enjoyed life too much to give it away?"

Cromwell shrugged. "Things change."

Janssen allowed a look of understanding to cross his face. "The war. Hard not to be affected by it."

"I'm lucky, my home nation hasn't been attacked yet, but it's only a matter of time." Cromwell stated darkly. "You look at what they did to the other Colonies that didn't support them, to Australia, I mean how many died? Do they even know? Six or seven billion so far? What the hell happened here to allow this? What made someone think this was the way to fight a war?"

"That's why we must win, our enemies have the most blood on their hands, they claim they fight for independence, but how is this helping? They'll be the only humans left alive at this rate!"

"I suppose it would make them independent." Cromwell remarked darkly. "So what are you going to do?"

"I can't let you get away with this." The Colonel shook his head. "You're a good officer but you went beyond the line. This is still an Army, might not look much like one but it is."

"I Understand."

"Of course at the same time we're so short on bodies a skilled officer is too valuable to throw away, even if he is out of control." Janssen exhaled. "So I'm going to ask you to volunteer for a special mission."

Cromwell raised an eyebrow. "You mean suicide mission don't you?"

"Special mission." Janssen repeated blandly. "A rearguard, volunteer only."

"And if you can't volunteers?"

"Then I'll make it an order." The Colonel intoned. "But if you volunteer it will reflect favourably at your Court Martial."

"What's the mission exactly then Colonel?"

"We're withdrawing north, the division is assigning two companies of tanks to watch our back as we move. One company from each brigade."

Cromwell shook his head sombrely. "You only have eight tanks left in the whole brigade. My squadron."

"Very true." Janssen replied. "So you see my position. I need troops for a rearguard, and I will order them if necessary. I'd prefer it if your unit volunteered, it looks better on reports, helps morale."

"We already bloodied their vanguard, that should have bought us enough time."

"I imagined so, but the enemy have brought up Mobile units."

"Mobile Suits?" Cromwell hissed. "I thought they were deployed north of here?"

"Apparently not." Janssen said. "So I need your tanks to help stop them."

"How many?"

"Six."

"We're all going to die."

"Come on Major, twenty tanks against six Mobile suits. It's been done before."

"It's been done with well trained crews, air support and favourable terrain." Cromwell corrected. "And even then we took heavy losses. Zaku type Mobile suits laugh at our tanks, they are more agile, faster, and can target our weak upper armour while we have a hell of a time elevating our guns enough to hit something critical. Even then the bastards are stupidly well armoured. Wonders of modern technology eh?"

"They're not invincible." Janseen countered. "You can ambush them, hide in cover. Not many places you can hide an eighteen meter robot, and no way they can sneak up on you."

"They don't have to, they can just walk right through us." Cromwell grunted. "There's a good reason guys call them Reapers. Death incarnate."

"They can be stopped, and they must be stopped. We can't allow them to attack while we are withdrawing, they would massacre our convoys. We have hundreds of unarmed trucks pulling back to Normandy, six Zaku's would turn them to scrap in an evening. You're going to stop them."

"And if I say no it becomes an order." Cromwell sneered. "And if I refuse an order in the field, then what? Summary execution?"

"If you volunteer and live you'll probably be acquitted of what you did to Igor. If you don't, well…"

"I'm probably dead either way." The Major guessed. "Not much of a choice."

"We have sixteen crews for eight tanks." Janseen said. "Volunteers will receive a transfer to training units back home. They'll never see action again, free ticket out of this war."

"Not a bad incentive." Cromwell allowed. "If they live."

"If they live."

"And if we have homes to go back to."

"I'd assume they'd be the first to volunteer. Little revenge is a good motivator."

"If you get me eight crews, I'll lead them." Cromwell agreed. "Not much choice in the matter."

"It's a gamble, but at least you have odds of walking out this way."

Cromwell smiled. "We both know that isn't true."

"No, probably not." Janssen was forced to admit. "Good luck anyway Major."

"Death or Glory." Cromwell stood, raising a salute.

"Send those Reapers back to hell Major. Dismiss."

Cromwell walked out of the tent without issue, several soldiers giving him a wide berth as he strolled through the base towards his unit. A number of trucks were already leaving, heading north with the wounded or with vital supplies before night fell. The base was in the process of packing up, but it would still take time for them to reach the embrace of the Northern Army along a long and exposed road. If the enemy caught them it would indeed be a massacre.

Cromwell expected it probably would be anyway, rear guard or not, they were facing an entire division in this sector and even if they did beat these six Zakus there were always more waiting.

His tanks were parked in a circular pattern, standard defensive formation for when the enemy was nearby. In the middle of the circle a couple of repair vehicles stood open, mechanics searching for the parts necessary to keep the squadron moving. In the end they'd probably need to cannibalise one of the immobilised tanks near the base entrance, spares were becoming an increasing rarity.

Also in the centre were four cargo trucks piled with crates, reinforced steel boxes with stencilled warnings prominent on every surface. Ammunition trucks.

"They let you out?"

His driver froze beside the Major, looking almost incredulous.

"That they did Private Hewer." Cromwell nodded. "The Colonel didn't want to waste a bullet on me, not when Zeon has so many to spare for the task."

"The Colonel already asked for volunteers." Hewer stated. "Rearguard operation, then a transfer home."

"Anyone fall for it?"

"No." He chuckled. "But a lot of the boys and girls volunteered anyway. Some want payback, others are just fed up of running."

"We have enough for all eight tanks?"

"Yes sir, not all our own squadron, some are from other units, but they all seem to know which end of a tank is which."

"It's a start." Cromwell allowed. "How's the supplying?"

"Plenty of fuel to go around." Hewer said. "I also noticed we're replacing Sabot rounds with Shaped Charge rounds. That means Reapers doesn't it?"

"Yeah, Reapers." Cromwell nodded. "Whatever they're made off they can take several hits from sabot rounds pretty well. Can't handle the effects of a HEAT round though, something to do with thermal properties versus tension. Just a complicated way of saying the boffins don't really know."

"We still need a weak spot though."

"Yeah, joints, mechanical linkages, head or weapon." Cromwell recalled. "All while trying to avoid return fire."

"Suppose it's what they pay us for." Hewer slapped his hands together, trying to cheer up. "Wanna see the scar we picked up?"

They walked over to their tank, the green and black beast sat with its hatches open while a supply team removed its sabot ammunition and prepared to load HEAT. The Sabot rounds were no more than dense metal darts that relied on speed and weight to destroy enemies, pure kinetic energy. They worked well against tanks but were less effective against the revolutionary principles of Mobile Suits, though a decent hit could still bring one down.

High Explosive Anti Tank rounds however were different, using shaped explosives to direct a jet of liquid metal into a target and melt through armour, then incinerate whatever lay behind. They were more effective against Mobile Suits and were used by both tanks and Regina Missile teams. Unfortunately even then the armour of the enemy machines was tough enough so that only a precise hit would work. Killing a Zaku without an airstrike was incredibly difficult, and usually fatal.

Neither type of ammunition offered a guarantee, but the blast from a HEAT round could disorientate or unbalance a Zaku even if it missed, making it the best choice in Cromwell's opinion. The large cartridges were fed in through the interior of the tank through its rear clamshell doors, opening up the entire back of the hull for easy access to the auto loader.

"There, on the turret." Hewer pointed out a long groove on the side of the tank. "One of those Magellas got a near miss. Couple of inches closer and we'd be dead."

"Lovely." Cromwell huffed. "Better hope our fortune lasts the night."

The Type 61 was out of its depth, even the latest A5 model had been designed for a different kind of war against a different kind of enemy. The philosophy had been simple, the Earth Federation's experience of war came from counter insurgency, putting down rebellions and terror groups within its borders. Their main enemies were a rag tag group of rebels with hand held missiles and maybe, if they were well funded, some obsolete tanks and armoured vehicles.

The Type 61 was built to fight these people, and in that respect it was an effective design. It was based on a combination of Israeli and former NATO experiences against similar enemies, with the prototype vehicles bearing a strong resemblance to Israeli Merkava series tanks from a century before. They were low slung, mounted their engines at the front and were well armoured on all sides to help them in the event of ambush. At the rear the tank had doors like an infantry transport and could carry a small squad of four soldiers in the back, a further influence from Israel. The addition of a troop compartment allowed the tank to either provide its own infantry support for urban combat or rescue allies pinned down in battle.

The designers built the tank for urban combat, installing bulldozer blades on the front for clearing obstacles, heavy side skirts to protect the tracks, remote controlled anti infantry weapon emplacements on the turret, and active missile defence systems designed to shoot down incoming projectiles. In terms of protection they were unrivalled, and thanks to engine advancements they were also extremely fast for their immense bulk.

Armament however had been a point of debate. The Type 61 had to be capable of defeating any other tank that had gone before it and that could be used against it, yet at the same time it had to be able to support infantry in low level conflicts. The tanks of the mid twenty first century had been massively powerful, but lacked versatility, being optimised mainly toward killing each other. The Type 61 would be different.

The solution was to simply give the tank an immense 155mm gun, a weapon so huge it could destroy any hostile tank through brute force alone. The gun was designed to fire several types of ammunition, but special consideration was given to its role in supporting infantry. The tank could fire ammo usually used by field artillery, making it a superb assault gun to destroy bunkers and strong points, but the cost was a much reduced muzzle velocity making it less effective at piercing armour.

At first nobody cared as the gun was still capable of killing anything else on the battlefield, but the lack of armour piercing power had come to be sorely missed when they were faced with a massive invasion by equal or better enemy tanks and vehicles.

The twin guns were also added mainly as part of its role supporting infantry, giving the tank a high rate of fire and letting a lone platoon or troop of Type 61's deliver more firepower than a full artillery barrage.

The tank also used the most sophisticated computers and uplinks ever made. Each vehicle was part of a network, linked together from individual infantry to space battleships. The tanks could literally fire blind, using information from any source to target their guns and fire with pinpoint precision. Their radar and visual targeting were all but perfect, the battle computers using a vast array of data to make sure their rounds never missed. There had never been an incident of friendly fire in the eighteen years Type 61s had been in service so far, and when they were first introduced it was boasted they would never miss. They became famous for scoring the first hit with the first shot, every single time.

The technology reduced the crew to two, driver and Commander. The driver's role was simple enough, while the Commander was responsible for picking targets which the Type 61 computer then automatically engaged. Simply a case of point to what you wanted to go away and the tank did the rest. Higher level commanders could direct formations over the data links, updated real time by satellites, recon drones and their own soldiers to ensure they were never surprised. In theory they would never even see their enemy in person, using the data links to fire from miles away, often shooting through forests and buildings to destroy opponents completely unawares.

As designed the tank was perfect, just what the Earth Federation ordered, but it was already doomed. In the same year as the first units rolled out tensions with the Colonies at Side Three, now declaring themselves the Principality of Zeon, began to build towards the current war.

It wasn't mobile suits which rendered the Type 61 obsolete, even with their huge leap forward in technology the principles of command, control, communication and information that were part of the Federation way of war could still have tipped the balance, still have allowed the numerically superior Earth Forces to just smother the enemy in precision fire. The death knell sounded in the form of the Minovsky effect.

At about the same time as the tank was entering production a brilliant scientist named Yuri Minovsky discovered a new method of creating energy, a light weight fusion type reactor that produced large amounts of relatively clean energy. It had revolutionised space craft and found obvious military applications allowing relatively small units to carry firepower capable of melting through the heaviest warships.

What hadn't been planned but which was arguable more dramatic in changing the face of war was the creation of the Minovsky particle from this new form of reaction, a highly electrically charged particle which acted almost like a constant sustained EMP effect, greatly disrupting radio communications, radar and microwave signals, and interfering with laser and infra red devices.

Virtually overnight the long range ultra precise weapons of the Earth Federation became hopelessly out of date. The extremely advanced smart missiles of the Navy found their computers fried by lingering EMP thanks to the Minovsky effect, the space fleet was forced to adopt a new gun heavy force to compensate, but worst hit was the army which found its brand new tanks unable to function as designed.

As the Principality of Zeon gradually built up their strength the Earth Federation realised war was brewing, even the most obstinate could see the horizon darkening as totalitarians seized power on the dark side of the Moon. The defence budget was increased massively, though most of this went into a massive warship construction programme, the Federation gambling that a strong Navy would make the Army redundant anyway.

The army was forced to soldier on with its tanks, stripping out the now useless data linking and sophisticated targeting systems and replacing them with a new visual targeting computer and reintroducing ranging machine guns to help aim the main guns, something unseen since the earliest decades of tank design. Unfortunately the biggest problem turned out to be the two man crew. With all the labour saving devices gone the workload on the tank commander increased heavily, requiring him to find targets, manually adjust the sights to help the chances of hitting something, fire the guns, direct the vehicle and in the case of senior officers command an entire platoon or company of other tanks too. Even the most skilled veterans often found it too much, requiring drivers to take on more than their share of decision making to keep the tank effective.

When war became inevitable new projects were announced, a new breed of tank armed with beam cannons that would obliterate any feasible target, even rumours of a direct counter to the new Zeon Mobile Suits. None of it was in effect when combat began, and it still wasn't in service five months later.

Earth's gamble had failed, the Navy was gone and the Army was now at breaking point trying to stop the seemingly inevitable victory of the invading hordes. Poorly trained, poorly equipped and poorly motivated the men and women of the Earth Federation Ground Forces fought for every scrap of land. Bravery was rarely a failing, but bravery without skill had led to massacre after massacre. They didn't have much left in them.

"We're due to head out at Nineteen hundred." Cromwell informed dourly. "Ambush enemy forces at dawn tomorrow as they move forward."

"You think they'll be dumb enough to just walk down the main road after the slapping we gave them today?"

"No, they'll hit it with heavy armour, which is why we need to be ready for Reapers."

"And the great master plan is for us to just sit there and wait to die?" Hewer wondered. "Certainly a new take on the idea of tactics."

"Ideally I'd like to live through the night so they can shoot me somewhere else." Cromwell uttered. "Just to be awkward."

"So how do we take on Reapers?"

"There is a plan." Cromwell reassured. "I just have to work on finishing it."

"How much have you got so far sir?"

"Actually just a name. Operation we're all going to die."

"Catchy."

"And accurate." The Major agreed. "We're talking about six Zaku's, one of them possibly an ace."

"Yeah, we're gonna die."

"Still want to come along?"

"Well they're giving us condemned man's dinner. Real food, so yeah. Be rude to eat so well and then not go through with this suicide job."

"Go on then, tuck in." Cromwell granted. "Meanwhile I'll try find a way for us not to die or be shot for desertion."

The hours passed like minutes, Cromwell spending them by the perimeter, passing on dinner. He could hear the unit laughing and joking, downing their hearty meals liberated from nearby farms and served up by the cooks. Real steak and a complimentary glass of wine. They were at least getting quite a send of.

None of them saw it that way of course, such thoughts of doom were kept firmly out of their consciousness. It was a god meal, a hard night's work, then a free ticket home, if home was still there. Either way no more fighting, no more retreating, no more hopeless battles. Not after this one. It was a nice dream to cling to.

It was still a few hours until sunset but the air was becoming chilly, the light dimming thanks to particulates in the air. The countryside was still untouched, rolling fields and clusters of fat trees standing as they had for centuries. Sunken country roads wound through the farm yards surrounded by walls and hedgerows, the grass having that yellow leeched tinge characteristic of summer. It was a world apart, offering no hint of the ruin just a few miles away, of any taste of things to come.

The world was orange hued, rich and almost autumnal despite the time of year. Glorious as it appeared the reason was far more grim, involving light filtering through the dust thrown high into the sky by the Colony drop a few months earlier. It had created some spectacularly coloured sunrises, reds, purples, on some days even green, but the price was nowhere near worth the spectacle.

He watched it with mixed feelings, dwelling on a past that was long gone and unable to return, a life that he had once led but no more. He still breathed, still walked and talked, but his life was over, torn away when that lump of metal fell from the sky. He was not from Australia, but all he knew and loved had been there. He couldn't help but imagine what those moments had been like, the summer sun being eclipsed by the monstrous colony cylinder, glowing with friction, trailing black smoke in its wake as it rose over the horizon and then plummeted down.

When he saw the sunset, he saw what he had lost sparkling in the atmosphere, so beautiful but always out of his reach, a glittering reminder of an atrocity beyond imagining. All that remained of that life was a photograph he kept in his pocket, the ring on his finger, and the glitter in the sky at sunset.

He glanced at his watch, the hands moving closer to their assigned numerals, each move chopping away more of the time remaining. Cromwell was ready for it, he wasn't keen on dying, not when there were still enemies to blow up, but he didn't mind that much either. He left it to fate and fate alone.

With a last look at the sky he stood and turned back into the camp, covering over his personal thoughts and adjusting for the matter at hand.

"First Squadron, Seventeenth Lancers!" He bellowed. "Time's up! Now you earn your pay for the week! Mount up and prepare to roll out!"

The tankers climbed up onto their vehicles, some more reluctantly than others, dropping into their seats and turning on various switches. Video screens gleamed into life, the heavily shielded computers booting up with a whirr before the starter motors charged the main power plant. The air filled with the noise of chugging before one after another the eight tanks growled into life, roaring like a pride of Lions as the drivers gunned their engines and checked the throttles.

"All in order Private?" Cromwell descended into his vehicle, settling into his chair in the turret.

"She's fully fuelled and armed." Hewer responded. "And so am I."

"Makes a nice change." The Major grinned. "It's at times like these we need a recording of Gary Owen. We did have one."

"Yes sir, I regret to inform you it was accidentally crushed under a tank. Several actually. Several dozen."

"You people have no taste."

"Opinion is divided sir." Hewer mused. "With you on one side and the entire Brigade on the other."

"I'll just have to whistle then." He stood up, rising out of the hatch to look around, noting each of his tanks straining to go, a small crowd gathering to watch them go. Suicide mission or not he wasn't going to show hesitation.

"First Squadron." He spoke into his headset, raising his arm and pointing it forward. "Move out!"

The line of tanks started forward, heading one way while everyone else prepared to head the opposite direction. They displayed no fear, no hesitation, each Commander stood straight in his turret head and shoulders out of the hatch in the dying sun. Several of the gathered soldiers saluted as they left, bidding farewell and passing on their respects, a gesture the Commanders returned honourably.

Whatever the result Cromwell would accept fate's judgement, and with an ancient cavalry tune in his ears he led his tanks to meet death's Reapers.


	2. Evening

"I make it about ten minutes until we make the crossroads." Private Hewer estimated, his voice tinny in the earphones but clear despite the roar of the engine and the clatter of tracks over wheels. "Probably just as the sun goes down."

From the Turret Major Cromwell watched his screens, looking at the grainy video footage fed through from the targeting computer.

"Pretty overcast, hard to tell if the sun is still up or not."

"I'm not complaining sir, nice murky haze makes us harder to spot."

"True." Cromwell acknowledged. "Makes the enemy harder to spot too. Would it have killed Janssen to give us a jeep or two to scout ahead? A biker even?"

"Guess they're too busy running for the coast for a suicide mission like this." Hewer grunted. "At least we know the lay of the land, we only ran away over it this morning."

"Doesn't tell me if it's been occupied since though." He grimaced. "Halt before we reach the next rise, I'll do my own recon the old fashioned way."

Hewer brought the heavy vehicle to a stop just before the crest of a ridge, the rest of the squadron halting in stages behind them, gun turrets swinging back and forth to look for signs of danger in the farmland around them.

"Wait here for me." Cromwell opened the hatch and climbed out, unhooking his comms wire and taking a set of binoculars. He walked to the edge of the large angled turret and climbed down, half stepping and half jumping off the tank to the hard road beneath. Outside of his armoured home Cromwell felt vulnerable, like a rabbit leaving its warren, encouraging him to dash swiftly over ground towards the brow of the hill his unit was waiting behind. From the top he would have enough elevation to view the crossroads while also enjoying the sun at his back, such as it was, making him slightly harder to spot.

He crawled the last few yards, using a hedgerow by the roadside to help further camouflage his position as he raised the binoculars and examined his path.

His view yielded a depressing sight. The morning's detritus was still there, scores of vehicles and tanks left as silent burnt out wrecks concentrated around the crossroads, the woods, and then scattered across farmland to the North and East. Most were Zeon vehicles, not that it made it any less grisly, but as he scanned his binoculars across the familiar land he spotted a number of new wrecks. Earth Force tanks.

He sighed heavily and withdrew back to his vehicle, the first drops of a new rain storm plinking heavily on the turret roof.

"Looks like rain sir." Hewer announced as he heard the turret hatch clank shut.

"Yeah."

"Should we keep going? Is it clear ahead?"

"It's clear ahead." Cromwell confirmed. "Mainly because Zeon already smashed our associates from the second Brigade."

"The other Company?"

"Yeah, the one supposed to join us in the rear guard. Looks like they arrived early and they got shredded."

Hewer exhaled. "Reapers?"

"Reapers." Cromwell confirmed. "Damage patterns match, and there are some jumbo foot prints on the far hillside. Doesn't look like they stuck around though."

"Okay, so do we have a plan sir?"

"We can't ambush them, if they come back it will be with a combined arms force. And we can't fight them in the open, the ground is too soft, with last night's rain and more on the way, we'll get bogged down in the fields. Fish in a barrel, it looks like our reinforcements found that out the hard way."

"Doesn't sound like we have much choice." Hewer spoke darkly. "Do we go home?"

"We can't fight them here, we're at a serious disadvantage. So we fight them somewhere else, a battlefield that suits us."

"Where sir?"

"The town of Mont Roche, two miles further along the road."

"Two miles inside enemy territory sir."

"Won't be enemy territory when we arrive and kill them all Private." Cromwell countered convincingly. "The brass wants us to buy time, we'll do it by launching a counter offensive."

"With eight tanks?"

"They'll never see it coming."

"There's a very good reason for that sir."

"And it means when the Reapers come we're fighting in an urban environment, solid ground under our tracks and buildings hemming them in. We still won't win, but we can hurt them, then run away."

"Good plan sir."

"Excellent. Alright then, let's get a move on, this rain will be another advantage if we can get there in time. Roll out."

Mont Roche had been abandoned by Earth Forces without contest, judged indefensible they simply walked away and a few hours later the Zeon army claimed it. Most of the population were long gone, expecting a massive firefight in the town that had not actually materialised. At least not when they had been expecting it to. None had yet returned, which as it turned out was particularly fortunate.

The town sat on either side of a river, on one bank stood mainly residential homes, a mix of new and traditional buildings incorporating narrow streets, winding roads and medieval churches. Bad terrain for Mobile suits, but also poor tank country too. The other bank was better, a business park consisting of factories, office blocks and assorted industrial buildings. There was also a railway marshalling yard which logically enough was in the process of being turned into a Zeon forward supply base.

With the front line apparently secure and the nearby Earth Forces running or destroyed, they felt safe, a grave mistake which showed those who understood that the Principality was also beginning to scrape the bottom of its man power reserves, putting troops into the line who weren't thoroughly trained. They were rear echelon troops, supply clerks and mechanics, but it was no excuse for sloppiness.

"Looks like a command platoon." Cromwell watched the movement in the rail yard. "Probably attached to the Zaku company stomping around nearby. Also elements of a supply unit, they're unloading a train full of equipment. Hopefully some ammo."

"Aiming to start the party with a bang sir?" Hewer grinned.

"Nice way to catch some Reaper attention." He confirmed. "Bring them to us."

He mentally placed the enemy units, visualising where the best fire arcs were, whether there were any traps or ambushes likely to be laid, any hidden units nearby.

"B Troop, advance along the main road, designated route bravo. Engage any target on the way until you reach the rail yard. Try to save your main gun rounds, this is just the prelude."

There was a series of confirmations.

"A Troop, we'll advance along the rail lines and attack from the south. Again, use your machine guns and your tracks if you can. Doesn't look like there's any armour about, but keep your eyes wide just in case. Let's try get this done in fifteen minutes or less, Happy hunting, now move along."

The two sets of tanks split up and began to move into position, driving swiftly to their agreed start positions as the clouds released their grey cargo onto the land below. In the space of less than a minute the leaden sky turned into a full downpour, the impact of countless droplets on concrete and wood serving to mask the growl of powerful engines.

The radios in the tanks still seemed to be working over short range, powerful enough to cut through the interference so the different branches of the attack could speak to each other, but there was no chance of raising central command many miles away to inform them of their situation. With no uplinks Cromwell could not tell exactly where his second in command was with the other four tanks, but he knew the Lieutenant was skilled enough to stick to his way points without breaking radio silence. That trust would have to be enough.

"We're at the tracks sir." Hewer reported.

"Turn us to face town." Cromwell ordered. "A Troop, arrowhead formation on me."

The tanks bounced across the rails and swivelled, pointing into the town. The tracks curved through the outskirts before reaching the yard and the base within, hopefully conveying a measure of surprise on the steel beasts.

"Time." Cromwell checked his watch. "Advance."

The heavy tank lurched forward as its gears engaged, the tracks tightening around the wheels and grinding over the gravel and sleepers of the railway tracks. Rain was falling on them, lending a reflective sheen to the surfaces of the Earth Force tanks, rivulets of grey water running down weld seams and dripping from the long twin cannons.

"Loading incendiary shells." Cromwell announced. Each tank had two anti infantry incendiary shells, two starshells used to illuminate territory, and the rest were HEAT rounds for engaging armour and fortifications. "Night vision check, how's yours?"

"Clear as day." Hewer replied, his own video screen displaying the rain streaked world in shades of green and grey.

Cromwell activated the coaxial machine guns, the firing mechanism clicking ready, 13mm bullets queued in their feeds ready to be loosed from the twin weapons. They were standard light armour piercing rounds with incendiary cores, used to punch through a vehicle then set it alight. Needless to say their effect on any humans caught in the path was dramatic and invariably fatal.

"Watch the warehouses on each side." The Major reminded a final time. "Go weapons free, no friendlies or civilians in the area, no restrictions. Engage at will."

The tank bounced as Hewer took them around the curved lines, moving beyond the masking buildings and coming into sight of the enemy themselves, the Zeon troopers huddling under corrugated shelters hiding from the rain, waiting for it to pass. The tank was in the open for several seconds before the first soldier noticed it, whelping a warning and pointing open mouthed at the beast gazing hungrily at them down the gun sights. They couldn't have asked for a better target.

Cromwell opened fire, the two machine guns at his command throwing tracers into the huddle of enemy bodies. The results were atrocious, the heavy calibre bullets scything down several men each passing clean through the crowd and thudding into piled logs and planks in the goods yard behind them, throwing up splinters where they ended their journey.

The other tanks of A Troop fell into formation around Cromwell and joined in, two foot long blasts of flame accompanying each bullet, chasing men as the ran and stumbled, smashing crates full of spare weapons and shredding food rations. Meal packs were launched into the air before fluttering down, their contents congealing in the cold rain as the water on the ground gradually turned red with the blood shed.

"Move forward." Cromwell ordered as the activity in the yard diminished. "Next waypoint."

The engine growled, rev counters peaking as Hewer pressed the pedal. The Troop began to gradually advance, spraying bullets as they proceeded effortlessly chewing through the wood and tin buildings of the yard. Several piles of rubble crackled and sizzled as the .50 cal incendiaries set them alight, the chemical fires hissing in the falling rain.

Ahead of them the Zeon troops mostly bolted, fleeing for their lives in the face of the sudden and overwhelming onslaught. As a depot unit they had very little in the way of heavy weapons and even less in terms of the training and willpower to use them, to hold their ground in front of the dark painted battle tanks currently chewing their way through the town. None of the Earth born troops were in much mood for mercy, not in this war, and none had any moral qualms about shooting people in the back as they ran.

An explosion rocked Cromwell's tank, dropping gravel on it thrown up from the rail bedding beside them.

"What was that?" Hewer called.

"RPG." Cromwell replied, sweeping his camera across the battle field. "There, signal tower, two o'clock!"

He swung the turret around to face the raised platform, three Zeon soldiers reloading at the top using the train signal lights for cover.

"Bugger, can't elevate the guns to hit them." The Major snarled. "Too high."

"Shall I open the distance?"

"No time, go for plan B." Cromwell returned. "Ramming speed!"

"I hate Plan B." Hewer exhaled, yanking the control levers and slewing the tank to face the lattice work tower. He aimed the tank like a medieval battering ram, picking up speed as he crunched over gravel and debris, bouncing on the suspension as the tower raced to meet them. The Zeon troops managed a second shot, but without sophisticated guidance the missile struck the ground a yard behind the speeding tank in a brief flash of light and heat. It was a gamble that had failed.

Hewer didn't hit the tower head on, instead he aimed for the left side of the structure, smashing into the edge and snapping two of the four supporting legs, the speed and weight of the tank uprooting the civilian grade construction without particular trouble. It wobbled like a tree in a storm before slowly pitching over, falling with a screech of metal and flattening itself in a pile of broken girders on the wet ground.

"Alright, resume original course." Cromwell kept his breathing steady, trying to keep a clear head as adrenaline filled him with energy, the tank acting much like a prison for his frantic desire to get out there and do some damage. Hewer fell into formation again with the rest of the unit, driving out of the rail yard and into the warehouses adjoining it, crushing boxes, crates and light vehicles under their tracks along the way.

"Target ahead." He announced. "Watch out for B Troop, they should be entering from the west."

The four tanks broke into a court yard, crushing a poorly raised barricade of scrap iron and loading trucks and proceeding to mow down remaining groups of Zeon soldiers. Most ran for an office building directly opposite, a damp flag hanging over the door suggesting it was a command post. Streams of tracer fire lashed the advancing tanks, all of it entirely without point.

"This is Alpha Three." Cromwell's radio crackled. "Bravo Troop in sight."

"Understood, watch your targets people, friendlies in the battle space."

Hewer rode up over a Zeon communications truck, the metal panels enclosing the various consoles and computer cores folding and bulging like rubber under the weight of the tank. He crashed down on the other side, grinding several tables under his tracks in the process laid for dinner under a grey tarpaulin, the rain proof covering fluttering down in slow motion between the two battling forces.

The office building which was now serving as the last stronghold of the invaders was transformed into a hail of flying glass and masonry, punched by hails of high calibre bullets. Each of the tanks had sophisticated audio sensors to try and make up for the lack of EM systems in the new battle environments, and each cry and scream elicited from the trapped enemy within the building came through with crystal clarity. It was chilling, but Cromwell remained entirely unmoved, his emotions too numbed to care for the suffering of people who had brought it on themselves anyway.

Cornered as they were the Zeon forces still made an effort to hit back, two streaks of white smoke billowing at the windows as a pair of missiles launched, one smashing into the frontal armour of a Type 61. Fortunately shoulder launched missiles were only a problem if they caught the back of the tank, the frontal armour was impervious to anything that could be carried by hand.

"Enough of this." Cromwell tracked the turret, depressing the main guns. "Incendiary loaded, firing."

He put two rounds into the building, one on the ground floor and one on the fourth, the Zeon troops concentrated between them. The entire lower half of the building dissolved in massive gouts of flame, the highly volatile condensed chemicals producing a miniature firestorm fierce enough to dry the rain soaked ground for a hundred yards around. The fireball was hot enough to melt steel and would likely bring the building down in a couple of minutes, for those inside it would have been over in an instant.

"Check for stragglers." The Major ordered. "I think we've accounted for them all but make sure."

"They'll see that fireball for miles around." Hewer warned. You wanted to attract company sir, I think you'll get your wish."

"Then we have some work to do."

* * *

There wasn't much they could do to prepare the way for the Mobile Suits, not without a company of combat engineers and several truckloads of explosives. Mines had proved to be a good tactic, but pitfalls and ditches turned out to be irrelevant thanks to the rocket packs the enemy had attached to the metal humanoids. It had left Earth Forces with few options beyond direct combat, and it left Major Cromwell with even less.

"Alright, last one." He gestured to two of his men, stood on top of their tanks dragging a cable up around a pair of lamp posts. "Tighten it up and then we're done."

The cable had belonged to one of the tanks, a basic tow line made of very high tensile steel. They had tied it to two lamp posts strung across the street several feet off the ground, pulling it through its own ratchets and using the gigantic wrenches designed for adjusting track suspension on their vehicles.

Each tank had two cables and all of them had now been used, set up on a dozen streets in the same manner. The theory behind the idea was good, if they could trip the enemy mechs it would take several moments for them to stand back up, time enough for a point blank gun shot to a weak point. It just wasn't going to work.

"Excuse me, sir." Private Hewer cleared his throat.

"Question?" Cromwell looked aside.

"These cables sir, they aren't going to work?"

"No?"

"No sir. They're good and strong by themselves, but you're anchoring them to lamp posts. If the Reapers come charging through they'll just uproot the posts."

"Quite correct, we'd need concreted in plugs as anchors. Which we don't have." Cromwell said. "But they aren't meant to trip them, they are meant to look like booby traps, triggers. If something walks through them and pulls them over it would set off half a ton of high explosives hidden in a building nearby."

Hewer frowned. "But we haven't rigged any explosives."

"I know that, and you know that." Cromwell grinned. "But our space friends don't know that, and they won't take the risk without infantry to double check first."

"So it's a trick?"

"Just a trick." Cromwell nodded. "Cutting off certain roads, focusing them into the centre of town, into the office district. Lot of tall buildings by the riverside, blocks their fields of fire and impedes their mobility. It should give us at least a fighting chance."

"Another fifty tanks would give us a fighting chance." Hewer exhaled. "Still, ours is not to reason why."

"We have surprise and terrain on our side." Cromwell reminded. "We have a chance, and we must take it."

"Major!" One of the two tank commanders called down. "Signal from Bravo, enemy in sight!"

Cromwell didn't hesitate, he needed to act decisively and quickly, any hint that he was unsure would be fatal to the confidence his men had in him, and in turn lead to disaster.

"Right, finish up here then get into position. We'll lead them into the town, isolate them, and destroy them one at a time. Get gone."

They finished working on the cable and hopped into their tanks, hoping the deception would work. The growled away as Cromwell mounted his own tank, the eight vehicles setting up in pairs and assuming pre set locations among the buildings, waiting to pounce on the mobile suits.

"Bravo this is Alpha, report." The Major spoke into his headset, the vehicle shaking briefly as Hewer engaged the ignition.

"Alpha, I have six lights on the hillside, estimate four minutes to contact." His subordinate reported. "Match for Reaper eye cameras."

"Understood, take up position and standby. Good hunting Bravo team."

"Here we go then." His driver accepted. "We're all in order, anytime you're ready sir."

"Lets get going then, head for the train yard." Cromwell ordered. "We'll have a little game of hide and seek."

"Did I mention this is a pretty bad idea sir?"

"Often, it's also the only idea. Just pray we don't throw a track."

"I'm not optimistic. Still, at least we get to wreck stuff in the process, hooray for vandalism."

They had only just pulled into position, hiding behind a line of parked railway freight cars when the first of the Zakus arrived, the Zeon forces advancing in a loose line proceeding cautiously, heading towards the burning ruins of their former command centre. Even through the suspension of the tank Cromwell could feel the ground tremble with each step, carefully watching them from the gaps between the cars.

"Six of them alright, and one is blue." He observed. "Great, a blue one, know what that means?"

"Someone with a name." Hewer answered. "Someone famous enough to be able to pick their own colour."

"An ace." The Major clarified. "This is going to take some careful timing."

"Or we're about to find out what being a charcoal brickette feels like."

"Call it a learning experience." Cromwell offered with veiled humour. "Everyone should be in position by now. We all know the drill."

"Training and teamwork versus overwhelming technological superiority." Hewer spelled it out. "I hate this plan."

"We just need to fight smart." Cromwell took several deep breaths, letting the closest Zaku march into position, stepping into the rail yard and scanning with its gleaming illuminated eye the destruction Cromwell's tanks had wrought.

"He's standing right over the target." Hewer stated flatly. "I guess this is it."

"You guess right." Cromwell replied flatly, emotionlessly, his attitude now that of a machine. From this moment on he was just part of the tank. "Show time."

The Zaku mkII was a formidable war machine, eighteen meters tall built of a new form of high tensile metal allowing it to operate on land or space. It was resistant to most heavy gunfire though a precise hit or multiple strikes could bring one down, though most of the time an opponent didn't have the time or opportunity to try. They could outrun most vehicles, or if desired use their rocket boosters to jump several miles at a time, and from their elevated position could rain down shells on the weaker upper surfaces of enemy units and buildings. These particular machines were armed with 120mm machine guns, extremely nasty weapons that could kill a Type 61 with a single hit if the struck anywhere except nose on. Their rate of fire allowed one Zaku to kill an entire tank platoon in seconds, something Cromwell had seen in the early days of the war far too often.

They didn't consider the EF tanks much of a challenge, breeding a culture of arrogance that Cromwell was hoping to exploit. A giant could be felled by a single well placed stone, and his Troop of tanks had a lot of stones to throw.

Hewer drove the tank forward, swinging it around to cross between waiting trains and emerge into the open, clear under the glowing eye of the towering Cyclops. It spotted them, the camera flashing demonically as it changed focus, the visual targeting system locking onto the tank even as Cromwell brought his own turret around, aiming not at the Reaper but at the freight train it was standing over, the freight train filled with ammunition.

Cromwell put his second and final incendiary round clean through the train, parting the metal cars with ease and triggering a flash fire that melted warheads and cooked propellant. Several tons of high explosives detonated at once and even from a few hundred yards away the force nearly flipped the tank, lifting them off one track for a few seconds. The Zaku was annihilated, the sheer force of the blast picking it up and flinging pieces of it across a wide distance, limbs and hydraulics showering down with puffs of dust and dirt across the town and landscape. The pillar of fire was huge, and of course did not go unnoticed by the remaining five units.

"Bloody hell." Hewer managed to exclaim. "Well if nothing else that made the night worth while."

"One down." Cromwell confirmed. "And one on the way, get us moving, back into the town!"

Hewer changed gears and accelerated, rocking the tank on its suspension as it gripped the wet uneven stones beneath it, spraying gravel as it spun and headed for the cover of the warehouses. From behind them the next Zaku in line changed course and began to bound over, weaving between structures and firing a few rounds from the hip, the shaped charge shells exploding close to Cromwell's tank as it withdrew.

"Keep going!" He ordered, changing the channel on his radio as pebbles rattled on the hull. "Alpha two, three and four, stand by! I'm heading your way with a crasher in tow!"

Hewer swung a hard left turn and ducked behind a warehouse, the building shattering in dust and smoke as several shells shattered the poorly made structure. They left the gravel of the rail yard and sped along paved roads offering much better grip. The tank was able to use its surprisingly impressive acceleration to great effect, but turning tight corners was still a trick which turned several hairs white in the vehicle.

"He's gaining." Cromwell tracked the turret. "Good, come on Reaper, come see what I have for you."

The green hued Zaku was crunching the road, leaving cracked foot prints in its wake as it maintained an ungainly running pace, awkward like a toddler but still fairly effective. It entered the warehouse district and fired a few more rounds, its accuracy reduced by the bounce of its gait. Cromwell in turn fired a pair of his own shells, likewise with limited accuracy.

"Hard right turn!" Hewer warned. "Hang on!"

It took all his skill to make the turn without losing much speed, the bulky battle tank not known for its ease of handling. The left side suspension took the strain, the wheels squealing as they were pressed by the axles, the two crew members pushed hard to the side for a long moment before straightening out.

"We're in position, leading the Reaper down the kill zone!" The Major called down the Radio. "Alpha team, start moving!"

The Zaku was close behind, failing to make the turn as gracefully as Hewer and shoving a mechanical foot through the side of a factory. Cromwell put a shell into its chest as it fought to extricate itself from the tangle of rafters knocking it back, but not killing the monster, just inspiring greater rage. It began pounding after Cromwell again, charging down a narrow road between a long line of factories, chugging bullets from its over sized gun, each explosion nearer the darting tank.

"Any time Alpha team!" Cromwell pressed. "If I get blown up it'll look poor on your final reports!"

Almost before he finished speaking the other three tanks of his Troop arrived, smashing through steel shutters and emerging from their hiding places in the factories, a trick the large mobile suits would be hard pressed to copy. Alpha's two and three rushed at full speed side by side for the Zaku, both putting two shots each into the back of its ankles. The mechanism was well armoured but at such close range the 155mm shells managed to burn through and wreak havoc, unbalancing the monster.

Without need of further command the two tanks swung their guns around, pointing the twin barrels at each other to protect them from phase two of the plan. With the Zaku unbalanced it was now necessary to bring it down. Before it could recover itself the two extremely heavy tanks rammed the ankles, their tracks churning ruts in the tarmac as they pushed the mech's feet out from under it, toppling it backwards to fall on its back in the middle of the road.

The two tanks, scuffed and battered at the front but still operational drove on, linking up with Cromwell in front of the fallen Zaku. The final act was left to Alpha four, trailing behind the other tanks and now with a clean shot at the relatively thin armour enclosing the head of the suit. With extreme relish the gunner emptied both barrels into the metal head, smashing the vital systems within and triggering secondary explosions that immolated the insides of the now helpless machine.

"Two down!" Cromwell jeered. "Bravo team, report!"

"Bravo leader, we have two Reapers in sight near the river, location of the other two is unknown."

"Roger that, we're on our way." Cromwell responded. "Alpha Troop, relocate, battle point Foxtrot, go!"

The four tanks quickly linked up and sped for their brethren, following the wide roads towards the office district. It seemed the Reapers had broken into two pairs, and the fake tripwires were keeping them a distance apart, the tall buildings making it hard for them to see each other and provide long range fire support. All they had to do was keep the enemy separated and overwhelm each one in turn.

Before back up could arrive there was the repetitive thud of a Zaku gun, the rapid fire heavy calibre gun like the chant of death.

"Bravo two is gone!"

"Go evasive!" Cromwell ordered. "Hold together!"

The four tanks of Alpha troop skidded to a stop in a plaza, the belting rain splashing in an ornamental fountain standing in front of a thirty storey office block. It was a basic glass and concrete building, standing dark and unused in the night.

"Bravo leader, what is your position?"

"Crossing battle point foxtrot now! Reaper is right on me!"

Cromwell glared through his turret mounted camera. "Come on, where are you?"

"I can feel him coming." Hewer announced. "Vibrations coming up from the ground."

"Alpha team, stand by to concentrate fire." The Major ordered. "Bring them to me Jacque."

There was a sudden blur of movement, a Type 61 flashing out from behind the tower block and swerving hard to try and reach the plaza. He didn't make it, the driver misjudged the distance and collided with a building on the corner, burying half the tank in the structure and coming to a dead stop.

"He's behind the building!" The stranded tanker yelled through the radio. "Quick!"

"Alpha team, fire through the building!" Cromwell ordered. "Eight rounds rapid!"

The four tanks thundered in unison, a sound and burst of yellow fire mirrored by a crack of lightning overhead. The lower two floors of the office block were consumed by explosions as the powerful rounds smashed support pillars and flung glass and rubble out in all directions. A few rounds passed clean through, hitting the building behind and two striking the very surprised Zaku, but it was only enough to slow it down. Luckily that was enough.

With most of its lower supports compromised by the hail of artillery fire the office block began to topple, thousands of tons of metal and concrete crashing down on the bemused mobile suit, pummelling it furiously and hammering it into the ground, kicking up a storm of dust and particles that were rapidly turned to paste by the heavy rain.

"Three down!" Someone called.

"Make sure of it!" Cromwell ordered. "Bravo lead, can you see it?"

"I see it, it's still moving!" His second in command replied. "I can make a headshot!"

"Take it." Cromwell ordered. "Everyone else look for the other ones!"

There was a twin crack as the third Zaku met its end, the pilot either unconscious or already dead from the impact unable to do anything, his suit mostly buried in rubble anyway.

"This is Bravo lead, target destroyed, moving to…"

He was cut off by sudden blast of fire that pelted rain and shards of metal across the street, and entire 155mm cartwheeling across the plaza to jam like a spear in a second office block.

"Contact! Reaper to the North! He killed Jacque!" A sharp voice shouted "It's the blue one, enemy ace is…"

There was another explosion as the blue Reaper claimed another mark, reducing Cromwell to five tanks.

"What the hell?" Bravo four yelled. "He's right on me!"

"Do not panic!" Cromwell snarled back. "Hold it together! Get your arse into the Plaza, now!"

"R-Roger!"

"Alpha team, ambush positions!"

Cromwell parked himself at the far end of the Plaza, opposite the expected entry point of the commanding enemy suit, Alpha four trundling around the back of the plaza while Two and Three took position on either side of the entry road ready to hit the back of the blue Zaku's legs and trip him, same as they had earlier.

The didn't have long to wait, the terrified Bravo Four bouncing over the curbs, smashing down a lamppost and roaring across the Plaza, the buildings on either side shattering in smoke as the Blue Zaku hurled rounds at his fleeing target.

"Keep going!" Cromwell yelled. "Do not stop moving!"

It was too late, the fleeing tank just wasn't fast enough and a single round ripped its turret off in a puff of black smoke, the hull of the vehicle smashing the ornamental fountain before colliding with the debris of the demolished office block. With a growl of anger Cromwell fired from across the Plaza, his two shells barely missing the Blue Zaku, showering it with debris from the tall buildings on either side of it.

"Come on you son of a bitch, fight someone your own age!"

Hewer gunned the engine again, dashing to the left as the Zaku tore up the ground behind them with its cannon, thumping into the Plaza as it chased the commanding tank. Exactly on cue Alpha Two and Three made their move, his two best trained crews grinding forward and accelerating, slicing rounds into the ankles of the charging Zaku as it bounced pass. Again it wobbled, but this pilot was better than his predecessor, his reactions faster.

He burned his back pack engines, launching off the ground in a roar of rocket engines, the two battle tanks passing under the uprated suit just an instant two late. The superior pilot didn't waste his opportunity, looking down at the upper rear hulls of the Earth Force tanks he sprayed them with bullets, blasting both vehicles to pieces of burning scrap in a heart beat.

Cromwell roared down the radio, cursing everything not made on Earth as the auto loader put two more shells in the chamber. He was down to just two tanks, this one suit alone almost effortlessly wiping out five of his colleagues.

"Alpha four, double back!" He didn't bother disguising his hatred and anger. "He's coming down by the river! Sandwich the big blue bastard and pour on fire!"

The Blue Zaku landed heavily a couple of hundred yards away on a road by the river at the edge of the office district, near a multi storey carpark and a supermarket. It wobbled a little as it landed, its ankle joints damaged by Alpha two before he could evade. Cromwell was not about to give it time to recover.

"Alpha four, position?"

"Ten seconds out!"

"Drive faster!"

Hewer skidded onto the road, barely avoiding a head long dunk in the river which would have been the last think either of them did. Before the tank stopped rocking Cromwell fired, striking the chest and cannon of the enemy suit, the weapon spinning away in two pieces as the suit stumbled.

"Come on! Faster!" He yelled at the auto loader as if it made a difference, two more fat rounds clanking into place.

"Alpha Four, target in sight!"

"Hit his knees!" The Major shouted. "Fire!"

The other tank did as instructed, halting behind the wobbling and unarmed ace and shooting one of its knees, forcing it off balance. Before the pilot could activate his rockets to escape Cromwell raised his cannons and fired again, forcing the pilot to defend himself first, swinging his shield round to absorb the hits. The combination of raising his shield and the two impacts exploding against it, coupled with the leg damage proved just too much. The suit lost its balance and fell into the deep river, throwing a geyser of brown water into the air as it vanished under the ripples, leaving just the lower parts of its legs breaking the surface.

"Four down!" Hewer beamed. "Unless they can swim?"

"No, they can't swim." Cromwell responded with a satisfied grunt. "Two left! Alpha Four, with me!"

The remaining pair of tanks advanced down the road, skirting the edge of the large open supermarket carpark, with the building itself on the right and the multi storey park on their left. Both tanks preferred to avoid the open space if possible, clinging to the safety of the buildings instead.

"There, far side of the carpark!" Alpha Four called. "Engaging!"

Both tanks swung over their turrets and spitting fire, large explosions bracketing the Reaper which ducked behind the multi level car park for cover.

"We're going to have to go over there and get him." The Major sneered, not happy at the idea. "Alright, form on me, echelon left, and watch for the last one!"

They turned in the sloshing rain and sped across the open ground, using the supermarket for cover and laying down suppressive fire on their target, blasting great chunks of rubble from the tall building. They had only just made the turn when a volley of rounds tore up the ground in front of them, the two tanks bouncing hard over the craters.

"Behind us!"

The last Zaku came down with a small earth quake, dropping from the sky after using his rocket pack to quickly come to the aid of his pinned comrade. With his arrival the other Zaku leaned around his building and opened fire himself, churning up more ground.

"They're boxing us in, double back, get into cover!"

One round exploded mere feet from Cromwell, crackling his electronics and bumping the tank.

"Popping smoke!" Alpha Four called, but a fraction too late. Before he could do anything three rounds caught his tank and brought it to a smoking halt.

"Dammit Hans!" Cromwell yelled. "That Reaper is right on us!"

"And we have a supermarket ahead, making the turn!"

"No! Keep going!" The Major ordered.

Hewer winced. "I hope we don't get the bill for tonight."

"The supermarket had been abandoned, but it was still well stocked and powered, its programmed schedule keeping the lights on and a gentle selection of music playing over the internal speakers. It would have survived the war if not for the dirt streaked battle tank that suddenly exploded through the glass wall and proceeded to crunch its way across the tinned food section in a roar of over stressed engine and worn out tracks.

The roof offered concealment but it was still just thin metal and offered no protection, the chasing Zaku halting and firing into the building, its rounds going clean through the roof and sprouting explosions inside the food store, trying to catch the frantically swerving tank.

"I can see its legs!" Cromwell half screamed, sighting the Reaper through the glass walls. "Throw on the brakes!"

Hewer skidded to a stop, the flanks of the vehicle now smeared with yoghurt as much as mud, the long guns lifting to aim for a knee joint. Both guns fired at once, rocking the tank and blasting a path through the supermarket, the muzzle blast levelling several aisles worth of products. One round made contact, severing the hydraulics and causing the knee to give way, pitching the Zaku over.

In slow motion it tumbled, spinning as it fell into the supermarket, crashing through the roof in a tangle of rafters and roof plates. It banged heavily into the floor, its hands grasping for a hold, its head looking left and right with its illuminated camera seeking a way up. Instead it found itself staring down the double barrels of the last Type 61.

"Clumsy bugger." Cromwell grinned, then blasted the head of the machine with both barrels, taking it out of the fight.

"Five." Hewer acknowledged. "What do we do about the last one?"

"Kill it." Cromwell answered simply. "Question is how without getting ourselves…"

He was cut of as another part of the roof collapsed, a heavy black orb settling into a crater it had just made in the floor tiles.

"Grenade!" the Commander shouted in warning. "Go!"

The mecha sized bomb contained a hefty amount of the latest explosives, equivalent to ten times its mass in old fashioned TNT. Hewer didn't hang around, pushing the accelerator flat down he rode the engine for all it was worth, leaving the falling Zaku and bursting through a large glass window as the explosive device went off, demolishing the supermarket and evaporating a few seconds worth of rainfall in the process.

"Target, two o'clock!" Cromwell called out. "He's got us in the open! Launching smoke!"

He tapped a control and popped the smoke dischargers on the turret sides, the phosphorous based charges rapidly covering the entire carpark in a band of thick white smoke. The last Zaku fired into it randomly, but it was just wasting bullets.

"Where to?" Hewer asked quickly.

"Straight on, the multi storey carpark." Cromwell ordered. "Get us on eye level with that thing."

"I don't think it was built with tanks in mind sir, I don't think its going to take our weight."

"Now's the time to find out. Do it."

They ignored the gateway, crumbling a low wall and flattening an abandoned car as they made their own entrance, rushing across the building between pillars as quick as they could, before they were noticed.

"There's the ramp." Cromwell spotted. "We need to be on at least the fifth floor."

"Pretty narrow squeeze sir, this is going to hurt the paint work."

He took the ramp as fast as he dared, Cromwell dipping the guns and adjusting the turret as the tank rose to prevent the long gun barrels becoming snagged. The paving beneath them cracked and split, but it held, taking the immense weight of the Type 61. One floor after another Hewer directed the tank, driving on both sides of the roadway and smashing any bollards in his way as the Zaku moved through the smoke, seeking its prey.

The tank slid a little, one of its tracks almost leaving the ramp as Hewer corrected.

"Steady." Cromwell reminded. "The smoke is clearing, but don't rush."

Suddenly, on a whim the Zaku peered into the car park, its blazing eye flashing as it locked onto the tank.

"Okay, ignore my last comment, rush!"

The Reaper stepped back and raised its gun, unable to bring it high enough to shoot cleanly at the tank the pilot instead decided to shoot through the floor. Explosions perforated the ground, a belly hit even through concrete would probably be enough to end this little game.

"Almost there!" Hewer called. "Last few inches."

"Make it fast, I can't move the guns on this ramp!"

Hewer gunned the engine for all it was worth, the famously reliable power plant straining a last few extra points of power to hurl them up the ramp, bouncing them onto level ground as concrete dust showered them.

"Drive for the edge! The floor is giving way!"

The impact of the Zaku cannon was weakening the carpark, a fact not helped by the heavy tank throwing itself around either. Sections began to collapse, folding in on themselves and crashing onto lower levels in thunders of dust and concrete blocks. Hewer aimed the tank for the edge, the head of the Zaku peering at them through the open side of the park, it's pilot desperately changing his aim as the tank came about to face him.

"Too slow." Major Cromwell gloated, then pulled his triggers.

Both rounds hit the neck of the suit, severing the head and sending it flying off in a pall of smoke and fire, smashing down several dozen yards away.

"We did it!" Hewer cheered loudly. "Six down!"

As the head dropped the body of the Zaku lost balance, falling in towards the carpark, smashing through the lower floors and cutting the support pillars as it did so. The floor in front of the stranded tank collapsed in sequence, like a wave getting ever closer to the heavy vehicle.

"Errr…plan sir?"

"Just one." Cromwell answered. "Seatbelts."

The tank was dropped nose first twenty feet, thankfully falling at a slow rate as the floor supported it fractionally longer on its descent. It landed on the back of the fallen Zaku, jolting its two crew members violently as it came to a rest on top of the defeated metal war machine, pieces of carpark bouncing from its upper surfaces and ringing the hull like a bell but not penetrating. It seemed like an eternity, but eventually the noises stopped.

"That was bracing." Cromwell exhaled. "Still with me down there?"

"Still here." Hewer wheezed. "Did we just go carpark surfing in a tank?"

"I don't think it'll catch on as a sport." The Major winced. "How are we doing?"

"The engine cut out, I'll give it a minute to cool down then try start it up again."

"Be nice to drive home, especially in our old girl." Cromwell affirmed. "Looks like rubble took out the main camera, I'm off topside to clear the dust from the vision blocks. Looks like we're doing it the old fashioned way."

He unlocked the top hatch and pushed, having to put some weight behind it to shove some accumulated debris out of the way. It was still raining and the cool rain was a welcome sensation after such a tense experience, one that almost got him killed. He was savouring it so much he almost missed the Blue metal hand shooting out of the river beside the carpark, smashing down and digging its fingers into the ground.

"Bloody hell, Big Blue is back!" Cromwell snapped, dropping in and closing that hatch. "Start her up!"

"I thought you said it can't swim!" Hewer accused, connecting the engine starter feeds.

"We'll argue about right and wrong when we're not dead!"

The engine turned over, the starter motor straining to engage the power plant, trying to coax the hard pressed heart of the beast to beat once more.

"Come on girl, come on, you've never let us down yet." Hewer closed his eyes. "You've still got it."

The tank shuddered as the engine kicked in, roaring like a Lion challenging an opponent with no sign of weariness.

"That's my girl!" The driver yelled in glee. "We've got power!"

With the engine online the auto loader clanked into action, picking up two more rounds and slamming them into the guns. It wasn't a second too soon, the Blue Zaku had seen them, dragging itself over, its left leg dragging behind like a crippled man as it advanced on the tank.

"Get us moving!" Cromwell commanded. "We better end him before he picks up a gun!"

Hewer pushed the steering levers, but the tank only moved a few feet, the sudden halt accompanied by a screech of metal sliding on metal.

"Now is a good time!" Cromwell demanded, swinging the turret. "He's on top of us!"

"We're grounded on that dead Reaper! The tracks have nothing to grip on!"

The Blue Zaku lunged for them just as the guns aligned, Cromwell pulling one trigger just a second too late, the round scraping past the head of the machine. Then it was on them, grabbing the gun barrels in its left hand and pushing them aside, the right hand clenching in a fist and slamming down on the turret roof.

"We need to move!" The Major shouted, trying to free the turret from the Reaper's grip with no luck, the mechanisms in the suits arms were far stronger than those used to rotate the tank turret.

"Working on it!" Hewer threw his levers in all directions, trying to improve the grip under the vehicle and find something to under them to work with.

The Zaku changed tactics, instead of beating the tank flat it grabbed a gun in both hands and lifted, causing a loud creak of stressed metal in the gun bearings.

"He's trying to lift the turret off!" Cromwell yelled. "I have a plan, it involves driving away from here!"

"If he keeps pushing I'll be able to grip! Just a bit more!"

"We won't have a turret in just a bit more!"

The left gun broke free, twisting aside and falling towards the floor of the tank. He still had the right gun and it was still loaded, but it was facing noting but sky.

At exactly the right moment the tank moved, finally finding something to push against. It didn't move much, sliding a few feet, but the sudden and rapid change of position threw the damaged Zaku off for a moment, it lost its grip and the tank slid back. It gave Cromwell a tiny window of opportunity and he seized it, raising his last gun so it pressed into the waist of the Blue Zaku, pointing upwards.

He was smiling widely as he fired, the muzzle pressed against the mech's belly. The round punched through the joint, travelled up inside the chest cavity and only then exploded opening up the torso of the mobile suit like a burst balloon. Unfortunately it also knocked the damaged gun from its mount, the recoil jolting it loose and filling the inside of the tank with black smoke.

"Out!" The Major ordered. "Time to go!"

Both men opened the hatches and fell out coughing, the fumes from the gun filling the tank and pouring from the open hatches. The stumbled down into the rain, getting clear in case something went catastrophically wrong with the tank, and skidded down the rubble of the carpark they were still mounted on.

The two men stood, instantly soaked by the rain, and looked back over their handiwork, the ruined mobile suits on either side of their battered tank.

"Now we got all six." Cromwell nodded proudly. "And a forward supply depot as a bonus."

"I'm frankly shocked we aren't dead." Hewer commented. "Though we are now very wet sir."

"There is that." Cromwell agreed.

"Do you have a plan sir?"

"Wait for the fumes to clear, then drive our girl home." He replied. "If we can't do that, we steal… I mean requisition a truck or something from the town. I saw some abandoned mail vans in a warehouse which might be still standing."

Hewer smiled. "As far as last battles go, this was a pretty good one."

"Had its moments." Cromwell agreed. "Of course this means we'll end up teaching conscripts who don't know a tank from an ice cream van."

"I guess that'll be lesson one then." Hewer chuckled. "Ready to go sir?"

"Yeah, lets get out of here." He nodded with a smile. "Take our slayer home."


End file.
